


Crooked Smiles

by HamAndSwiss



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, I Tried, Memories, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, let's go color, little kiddoes, memories hurt, someone hug james please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 22:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17692772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamAndSwiss/pseuds/HamAndSwiss
Summary: It's been eight years. Eight years since that fateful day on the preschool playground. James never got over it. How could he? The memories of the past would always come back in dreams, and there was no way to stop it. Because the fact is, a little boy died those eight years ago, a little boy who deserved to grow up.





	Crooked Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> So, the song lyrics are from 'The Kids Aren't Alright' by Fall Out Boy. It's one of my favorite songs.

**_And in the end_ **

**_I'll do it all again_ **

**_I think you're my best friend_ **

**_Don't you know that the kids aren't al-, kids aren't alright?_ **

“Jemmy!”  
That shout had followed him into all his dreams, even after years. No matter how far he ran, he could never run away from Thomas. He could never escape the little boy’s infectious smile, his stained purple sweatshirt, his outstretched hand as he implored James to “Come play with me!”

 

When James had the dream the first time, it was simple. Thomas was sitting on a rainbow carpet in a grey stone room, coloring frantically on a piece of paper. James stood awkwardly against the wall, not wanting to call the other boy’s attention to him, because every kid knows that after two years, if you don’t talk, you’re no longer good friends. But, eventually, fatefully, Thomas looked up and set the world on fire with his smile. “Jemmy! You came!”

James opened his mouth to say _of course, Tommy, of course I came, I always will_. But the words died on his tongue as Thomas kept up that smile, and James’ throat began to close up. He hadn’t seen Thomas for too long, and here the other boy was, smiling, and he wasn’t mad at James because James couldn’t save him.

Without a doubt, James woke up from that dream screaming.

 

It kept coming back every couple nights or so. It’d get more complicated sometimes. Sometimes it would feel like they were back on… _that_ day. James wouldn’t sleep for days after he had that dream.

 

Years and years passed. James turned seven, eight, nine, ten, with a notable absence from every party. By the time he was thirteen, he had almost forgotten entirely about the little boy he used to be practically glued to. Hah. That’s what his mom wants to believe, so she does. She sent him to four different therapists, got him on medicine, all trying to get him to… do what, exactly? Forget? Remember? Get over Thomas? Maybe it’s a little bit of all three. But it’s kinda hard for James to forget Thomas when the boy shows up in his dreams almost every night.

 

That night, it’s a “Jemmy, c’mon!” Oh, looks like it’s going to be one of _those_ dreams. Thomas is running ahead of James on the playground, looking back. No, not James. A little James. A memory, a James who could be happy because his best friend was always there beside him, no matter what.

Thirteen-year-old James watches his Little-James run after his friend, until the skid to a stop by a little ditch. “Look,” Thomas whispers, almost reverently, bending down and picking up a creature. The two boys bend in close over it, it turning out to be a frog. They _ooh_ and _ah_ over it some, being fascinated, as little kids are, at its slime.

A sound shatters the cheerful hum of four-year-olds playing, before the screams start. The frog is left to hop out of Thomas’ hands, as three heads, the two preschoolers’ and the silently crying teenager’s, jerk up to look at the source of the noise.

There’s a little boy, Alexander, not really Thomas’ and James’ friend, but he’s nice enough, lying on the blacktop. At first, it just looks like he fell, with Eliza and John bustling around making sure he’s okay. But as John’s shoulders shake with sobs and Eliza’s screams echo across the playground and teachers start throwing open doors and yelling frantically for kids to come inside, it’s clear that this isn’t a regular mishap.

James wants the dream to stop. He has already lived through this, he’s had countless dreams where it repeats, _why again_?

Thomas grabs Little-James’ hand, pulling him across the blacktop and towards the school where their teacher is standing, face pale, grabbing all the kids nearby and shoving them inside. The distance is narrowing. There’s another one of those popping noises from before, and the screams double. There’s no time to see who fell this time. And as luck would have it, the shock of the sound makes Little-James fall to the pavement, skinning his knees.

This is where it breaks James’ heart again, every time.

Bless his darling little heart, Thomas skids on a dime and kneels down next to his friend. “Hey, Jemmy, you okay?” he asks softly. Little-James nods, slowly getting up to his feet. “Yeah. Thank ya, Tommy.”

A crooked smile from Thomas’ lips, before he falls in sync with another popping noise. Now the screams are Little-James’, the real scream, because this is a dream and no one can hear James, no matter how loud it echoes in his ears.

“Shh…” Thomas whispers softly, too soft. “Okay. It’s okay. Love ya, Jemmy.” With that, the hand that was only a few minutes ago holding a frog, and even more recently holding Little-James’, goes limp, and Thomas is just one more casualty.

There are hands on Little-James’ shoulders, and Mr. Washington pulls him off the ground, back into the school. Doors are locked and police were already called and broken kids sob in the corners of brightly colored rooms and crying parents come and the world crumbles to dust around James again.

 

He wakes up in his bed, crying. But at least he didn’t scream awake this time. His mom would never forgive that.

It’s not time to wake up and get ready for school, so he’s got some time. Under his bed, there’s a box filled with old pictures and newspaper clippings and drawings and everything.

 

**_All those people in those old photographs I’ve seen are dead_ **

 

James searches through the box, looking for one picture in particular. He carefully takes out newspapers with headlines blaring **Preschool Shooter Suspect Apprehended**. He passes the obituary, the one where they used the worst picture imaginable of Thomas, his school picture from that year, where his mom made him brush down his hair. He places to the side drawings, sketches of how Thomas would look now, drawings of him and James, walking, talking, the childhood they had stolen from them.

At the bottom of the box, there’s one crinkled photograph of Thomas, one of the ones James’ mom never found and threw away. Thomas’ eyes are sparkling as he digs into a bowl of macaroni noodles, and James can still remember when the picture was taken.

_“Jemmy!” The shout came again. Always, always, always, Thomas is always calling. James looked up from a Magic Tree House book and smiled up at his friend. Thomas smirked from the table, pointing to his bowl. “I got mac-cheese, and you don’t!” Laughing, James scampered over and poked his friend’s nose. “Thas okay, I getta have pancakies later!” he exclaimed, before running over to tug on his mom’s blouse. “Mommy, takea picture of Tommy! He looks silly!” His mom obliged, and that’s where they got that picture._

Through the tears, James smiles sadly. He wishes they had more time, he wishes that Jason Sawyer didn’t climb the fence to the playground and pull the gun that day, he wishes that Thomas had had a chance to grow up and be the charming young man everyone said he would turn out to be.

 

“James?” his mother queries, opening up his door. When she sees that he’s surrounded by the loose papers, her face contorts, and she sweeps over to throw everything back into the box. She storms out with the box before James can say anything, and there his memories go, gone. Everything he could remember Thomas by is gone.

 

For minutes, James sits there, unable to… no… he’s… no, he’s not going to school today.

 

Or, really, from the looks of it, ever again. Ever. Nothing. He can’t go on. Not like it matters, school hasn’t mattered for years. Despite what the teachers say, it’s not safe. There’s no way for it to be safe, because any nutso can find a way around it, around the fence, around the security guards that usually aren’t on the premises anyway, around their own conscience.

 

The only thing that mattered was—

~~~

“Jemmy!” the boy with the chipped front tooth and the messy black hair shouts, waving to his friend from his perch upon the stone wall. James, the target of that call, looks up and gives Thomas a bright smile. “I’m comin’ Tommy!”

Once James reaches his friend, the taller boy hops down from the wall, extending his hand to the shorter. “We were waiting for you so much! And now you came!” James gratefully takes his friend’s offered hand, remembering how perfectly their fingers fit together, and smile again. With a grin, Thomas runs off into a little wooden building, pulling James behind him.

In the building, which really looks like a treehouse on the ground, there’s a crowd of children, all buzzing and talking. None of them are much older than four or five, and it’s like James is back at the school. But this time they’re really gonna make it big and _not_ be beat.

 

**_Blessed be the boys time can’t capture_ **

****

A boy looks up from a game of Mouse Trap and smiles at the two new arrivals. James sees that it’s Alexander, and beside him, John and Eliza. Those two smile too, same infectious smiles that Thomas has, the same smiles they all had years ago. Have they been here for years, or are they new like James? Are they like James? Could they not bear to be away from Alexander, so they found a way to break all the rules and come back?

“So, Jemmy, do ya wanna color?” Thomas asks, but James’ chest is tightening up again as he looks around at all the shatters. He shouldn’t be like this. He was supposed to be happy. They all were. They all should be alive and happy and growing up.

“I want my mommy!” James finally sobs out, making all the heads turn to him. Another boy, one that James can’t remember, smiles kindly. “She’s gonna come eventually,” he says softly. “They’re all gonna. We just… got aheada the game!”

Thomas smiles at that boy, and then squeezes James’ hand. “He’s right, Jemmy. We’ll have lotsa fun, and one day everyone else is gonna come too. I promise.” James looks up at Thomas, eyes wide. “Promise?”

Again, Thomas smiles. “Promise. Pinky promise.” When James gives a sad smile back, the taller boy laughs and continues. “Now, how about that coloring?”

And like that, what was once broken becomes whole again. The terrors of the world are to give way to the peace of something after, as two boys bridge the gap of the years, and find a way to be happy, together, once again.


End file.
